


Human Need

by tiptoe39



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drama, First Time, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-13
Updated: 2010-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-09 10:41:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiptoe39/pseuds/tiptoe39
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is more connected to his human body now. And it's affecting him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Human Need

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks go out to [](http://ladywilde80.livejournal.com/profile)[**ladywilde80**](http://ladywilde80.livejournal.com/), who absolutely rocked my world with her amazing beta work. I'm so, so grateful. This was written when I had only seen as far as 5x02.

Alive. Alive again. He'd felt death, known it. The agony splitting him into a million pieces. The archangel's might. The whiting out of everything he perceived, on earth and in heaven. And now he was alive. Alive. He kept repeating it, in part because he didn't know what else to do, and in part hoping that through repetition he'd finally come to believe it.

Life after death was impossible, unthinkable. He was not human. He had no hope of heaven; he'd come from it. When angels died they became stardust. No breath, no thoughts, no consciousness. And Castiel had undoubtedly died. And yet here he was, breathing, thinking, being again. In the same vessel, no less. He thought he might just understand what Dean must have felt like.

_Dean._

The name went through him like an arrow. At once he knew who'd raised him and why. He knew what he had to do, and he knew whom he needed to do it. And he knew the rapture that was truly receiving revelation. Not the formulaic, false procession of nonsense that had come from his superiors. This was a divine finger touching him, lighting a candle deep inside this human's breast that he wore. Both the mortal body and the celestial soul within shuddered with ecstasy.

And at once, the body fused to him, grasped his consciousness and wouldn't let go. Castiel felt the tips of his vessel's fingers, the uneasiness in his stomach in a way he hadn't before. Where it had once been a vehicle for him to ride, disconnected and above its concerns, the body was seeping into him. Or he was dissolving into it. One way or another, they were becoming one.

Was this a blessing? A punishment? Part of him knew he should consider it the latter. He'd rebelled. He'd killed angels. He could no longer track the heavenly plane. This meat suit trapped him as surely as angelic spells or celestial chains. He could still muster up enough power to jump from place to place, but there would be no return to that kingdom above. He was still more than human, but he was far, far less than he'd been.

And yet the Father that had given him another life, given him revelation, had at the same time given him this new awareness. Something to mitigate the unbridled joy of feeling the faraway touch of God? Or did the fusion that now enveloped him with a host of unexplained sensations have some other purpose?

He needed to understand. He needed explanation. He needed to find his Father. And for that he needed Dean.

And for the first time in eternities, Castiel realized, he needed something to eat.

*

The reunion with Dean was less than heartfelt, marred by violence and mortal fear as it was. Castiel's human heart was pounding and a strange exhilaration filled him as Zachariah retreated. He turned to Dean and Sam, tasting the sugar-salt of victory on his tongue. This was power, raw power with the intent and freedom to use it, and Castiel imagined for an instant that it tasted like the demon blood Sam had craved for so long.

No. He didn't want to think about how that felt. Didn't want to identify with it in any way. His eyes lingered on Sam for a minute, and then he turned his attention to Dean.

Now this was a different feeling entirely. His knees knocked together. What was this body doing? Why was it responding this way? Why, when his eyes met Dean's, did every touch of air in that stale warehouse suddenly bring the hairs on his vessel's arms-- no, _his_ arms-- to stand up, prickling and alert?

This was ridiculous. Lucifer had risen. The world was at stake and Castiel could only think of himself. Truly he deserved the punishment that was this earthbound existence. If only he could think of it as a punishment. He'd tried before and failed.

Because the bitter touch of coffee against his tongue nipped him to alertness when his body tired. Because the sight of a sunrise, that simple earthly delight, stirred emotions he had never felt before. Because he felt the urge to write, sometimes, to express this mountain of feeling that was overwhelming him with every sight, every sound and touch and taste. Every time he looked at a child, or a beautiful house, or a cat that passed by. Sorrow. Pity. Inspiration.

And Dean. The very thought of Dean, the catalyst of this remarkable change. The man who through his very existence had changed the arc of Castiel's world. The feelings he evoked were the most different of all.

*

Nights upon nights later. Dean was alone. Sam was gone, and Castiel pitied them both. He thought it better this way, and his heart twinged painfully to see Dean walk from his car toward an empty motel room. Maybe it wasn't his heart. Just something in his human chest, near his heart. He wanted to ease Dean's loneliness. He suspected, though, that he was also looking for a salve on his own.

So he stepped in Dean's path, in the parking lot. Dean acknowledged him with a nod, a gruff grunt of "Cas." And kept walking. Castiel fell into step with him, as he did so well, as Dean expected him to do. It felt natural, rhythmic. There was so much rhythm to human lives, to the motions of human bodies. He'd never noticed it before. It fascinated him.

"I need to talk to you." His voice scraped his throat. It hurt. He'd never hurt before when he spoke through this human's mouth. Now, he couldn't believe how fast his vocal chords were vibrating, how much the air stung as it came through his lungs. Bellows, pipe, horn. He was an instrument. An elegant, if crude, sort of machine.

Dean didn't speak to him until he'd shifted the key and jammed it into the lock, opening the cool motel room to the both of them. The colors were dim enough to instill a chill in Castiel's bones. Never before had colors changed the temperature of a room for him. This was more human madness.

The door slammed. Dean shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned forward. "So what's up? New lead on Big Brother?" He jutted his chin in the direction of the charm that now lay around Castiel's chest.

Confusion. "He's my Father, not--"

"Yeah, yeah, never mind. So?"

To his consternation, Castiel felt blood rushing to his cheeks. This was embarrassment, he thought. "This is a more... personal matter."

The voices of Dean's thoughts were muted, but Castiel could still hear them even through his human ears. They would have amused him once upon a time. _If I didn't know better, _Dean was thinking, _I'd think Cas was having a girl problem.   
_  
"Not exactly," Castiel said, and Dean started.

"Jeez, I wish you wouldn't do that." He shook his head.

"Sorry."

"Never mind. Used to it. So what's on your mind, Cas?" The smile he'd given his brother countless times. It was Castiel's now. It had finally been turned on him. Castiel was doubly amazed -- at the depth of his covetousness and at the power of showing vulnerability to get the object of his desire. Who would have thought appearing weak, needing advice, would garner him that natural, boyish smile? And who would have thought he wanted it so badly?

"Since I was exiled from heaven, I think I've been... feeling more. In this body. And feelings, in general." He looked down at himself as though a venomous snake were crouched at his feet, ready to strike.

That's not what Dean thought he looked like. And it wasn't what he said. "You look like you just realized you've been riding around in an honest-to-God human all this time."

Castiel met his gaze. "I think... I just did."

"Humans feel, Cas." A jarring as Dean's hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"I know. I knew that. But..." A glance down, and then back to Dean's eyes. "I don't think I knew just how much. I can feel myself speak. I can feel this body breathing. I never used to notice these things before." He reddened. "It's so... so _stimulating_ to be a human. I don't know how you manage it."

"The stimulation's half the fun." Dean gave a barking laugh. "Have you had a wet dream yet?"

"I do not require sleep," Castiel informed him severely, and Dean snorted. "What is that reaction?"

"Us humans really don't pay a hell of a lot of attention to what we require," Dean said, folding his hands behind his head. They were side by side against the wall. Around them sat beds and Bibles and TV sets, all the trappings of a motel room, but they'd cut it all off, building this small haven of confession and conversation around the two of them and the wall they leaned on.

"But you do have needs. More than angels do, at least."

"We do. But needs aren't really requirements. I mean, I _could_ survive without sleep for a few days. Hell, I _have._ But that doesn't mean I don't want to kick back and close my eyes after a long day."

"You're talking about things you want, then."

"That's what you're feeling," Dean said with a decisive nod. "You're probably not much good at wanting things, not having much free will and all that. Just get used to it, and things'll get a little less intense."

Castiel frowned. "I suppose. But it's very strong. The... wanting."

"If you want something that badly, then take it," Dean said, shrugging. His self-assured grin branded itself on Castiel's eyes.

"That hardly seems appropriate."

"And being appropriate has gotten you what so far?" Dean relished the idea, that much was clear. Castiel had the vague feeling it was wrong, or sinful somehow, but if Dean, the chosen one, could be so nonchalant about it, maybe _just maybe_...

But then Dean had leaned in close to him. Castiel felt the acute lack of breath now, and it hurt. He wanted to cough, choke, tear himself away.

"That's your problem, isn't it?" Dean's eyes glinted with hard flint and soft coral, and the sound of Castiel's gulp resonated through the human bones. Had Dean heard such an ungainly noise? He didn't show any signs of it. "You want something you never wanted before, and you don't know what to do." A short laugh, and the coral-flint eyes narrowed. "You want my advice, Cas? Just take it. Whatever it is, take it."

The wind whistled coldly past Castiel's hands as they rose up to clamp around Dean's face. That face was hot, getting hotter by the microsecond. Hotter, and closer, and Castiel tugged hard with his unruly fingers until lips were under his. Dean's heat was nothing compared to the hotness shooting through every cell of his human body. Oh. Oh. Castiel was doomed to hellfire on earth. Surely. Dean's lips were chapped and soft, moonshine and leather. He couldn't stop, couldn't tear himself away.

Clearly Dean was wrong. Clearly taking what you wanted only made you want more.

Dean roared, pulling back and wiping his lips on his sleeve. "What the hell, Cas?"

Sheer emotion, sheer shame turned Castiel's stomach. He shrank. "I'm sorry. Forgive me."

"I mean, _Jesus_!" Dean stalked away from the wall. "A little _warning_ before you do something like that. For fuck's sake!" He turned and faced an empty wall.

Another round of curses ensued. Castiel experienced it, his soul still connected to the scene for one more second before he finished the jump and found himself elsewhere. Still human. Still alone. Still burning with shame.

*

It took him another twenty-four hours to answer Dean's call. And Dean had indeed been calling, almost constantly in his spare time. Castiel couldn't find him any longer, but he could hear when Dean called. His chest stung with regret as he turned away, tried to close his ears to it. Still too ashamed to speak to him, and ashamed of his lack of courage, too.

Another host of demons, another fight, and Castiel's hand had been forced. He couldn't conceive of letting Dean suffer or die. Even if finding God meant he wouldn't technically need him. It wasn't the quest that needed Dean anymore. Castiel knew that, but it didn't stop him from thinking it. It seemed his thoughts were in worse disarray than they ever had been before. And he had thought doubts were hard to handle as an angel. At least then he hadn't had a stomach to tie itself in knots or eyes that grew heavy from lack of sleep.

And now there they stood, like two tenpins in a bowling frame, surrounded by the littered bodies of fallen enemies. They stared at each other. Castiel's face was hot again. There was far too much heat involved in this whole process. He wished he'd possessed a cold-blooded creature instead. Perhaps something that could slither away under pressure.

"You've been calling me."

"You noticed."

"I suppose you want to talk."

"Yeah." Dean's nod was cursory.

"Should I come back to your room with you?"

"That's..." Dean looked around. "Well, I was going to say that's kind of uncomfortable, but this isn't much better."

"We could sit down and drink coffee. Or eat... burgers... or something." That was an odd word to say. "You do like to eat when you have discussions."

"I do?"

"Humans. Humans do." Castiel looked aside, embarrassed at his own quaking nerves.

"No." The set in Dean's jaw baffled him. "No, c'mon back. I need to shower."

*

Sitting on the bed in a motel room while Dean cleaned off the blood and sweat from a hunt was a surprisingly evocative experience. Castiel looked around. Everything in the room said _Dean_ to him, even the nondescript blankets and wallpaper. He had some time to sit and think. And all the while he could hear the hum of Dean's mind, repeating like a broken phonograph, _I must be crazy. I'm losing it. I must be crazy._ When he clearly wasn't. None of it made any sense, so Castiel gave up the thinking and just sat.

He averted his eyes, some practiced human reflex or sense of modesty, when Dean emerged, toweled off and dressed again. "Look," the gruff voice said behind him. "It's just... I thought you were a lot of things, but a gay boy wasn't one of them. That's all."

An unexpected response. Castiel could feel Dean's eyes on him. "Angels have no sex," he said quietly. "We know no sexual feelings. I suppose this body's reactions confused me. I'm unsure what to do and what not to do."

Dean's face softened. "All right," he said, shuffling his feet. "Then we'll just chalk it up to a mistake. Conversation over. No problem."

"But--"

"Conversation over, Cas," Dean growled. "Over means over."

"Fine." Castiel stood. The distance between him and Dean was small. Frighteningly small. He stalked past him, tried hard to ignore the shudder that wracked him when his shoulder brushed Dean's. Silently, Dean turned to watch him go.

But his mouth was itching. He turned. His arms opened as though to invite an embrace. Did his eyes convey the hurt and confusion that this human body heightened to such frightening peaks of intensity? He prayed so. He thought, from the way Dean stared at him, open-mouthed, that they might.

"It's just that since I raised you, Dean, my whole life has revolved around you. Around helping you find your destiny. Trying to convince you-- and myself-- that you were worthy of this grand obligation that even I didn't fully understand. And what truly confuses me is that, the more I learned about the role you were to play, the more I was sure I would be disappointed. But the more I learned about you, the more my faith was vindicated.

"Dean, I have more faith in you than I have in anything else right now. More than in my own Father. I don't understand human emotions, but I feel like if there were a name for this--" He bit his lip and balled his fists, felt the realness of the pain of teeth and fingernails in soft skin.

"If there were a name for this," he continued softly, "it would be called love."

Dean had stood frozen, stiff as metal, as Castiel spoke. His eyes were dark, and the look in them defied Castiel's powers of observation. They were not the black eyes of a demon, but as Dean stepped forward the word started ringing in Castiel's mind -- _possessed._

"Cas," he said, and his voice was hoarse and throaty. The sound of it seemed to bring him around from whatever he was starting to say, and he halted his approach. "I, uh, think that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said about me." He tried to smile, but the smile twisted and fell from his face after a moment of unbalanced presence.

Meanwhile, Castiel was trying to fight a new urge -- to lift his outstretched hands further, to embrace him. He dropped them to his sides instead. "You're welcome," he said gruffly. "I guess."

"Heh." Another forced, halfhearted chuckle.

"So." Bile filled his gut with every second of silence. "What do I do now with this feeling? If what I did before was wrong."

Dean came forward to stand beside him-- the two of them, leaning on the wall just behind the door, like they had before. He sighed. "Actually," he said ruefully, "as much as I'm gonna regret this, I think maybe it wasn't. I mean, if you love someone, kissing them's generally the way to go. It was a pretty human move."

"It was?" He didn't mean his surprise to sound quite so pleased. But he was pleased, unexpectedly, and hopeful too -- for something he dared not name.

"Yeah." Dean scratched his head. "Don't know why I'm telling you this, except it's the truth."

"But you don't want me to kiss you again. Right?"

"Damn it, Cas, I like girls!" His hand slapped the wall, but all the same he did not move away. "I don't make a practice of going around and kissing men. Or even angels dressed up as men."

And something slipped through Dean's consciousness that Castiel couldn't ignore. His eyes widened, and Dean saw the recognition and blushed.

"You're confused," Castiel said, his voice full of the wonder of discovery. He was going to die from the poignant intensity of the moment, of the emotions that were overwhelming him and coming in waves from Dean. "You do want me to kiss you again. And that confuses you."

"Stop it." Dean grunted the warning.

Castiel dared to touch his hand. "I'm-- I'm very pleased that you feel that way," he said. He was discovering the emotions as he was voicing them, and it gave his tone a lift and thrill as he spoke. "I'd like to--"

"Yeah, well, don't, okay?" Dean wrenched away from him. "It's not sexual, OK? I didn't have the hots for that Jimmy guy, while he was still driving that bus. I don't know what it is. Maybe it's some weird kind of gratitude thing."

"We're both being confused by our bodies." Castiel's voice was serious, but a smile lit his face. "That makes me feel a little less alone."

"Yeah, that's it exactly," Dean said. "You make me feel like I'm not alone. Like someone in this crazy, effed-up world is in my corner. That should be enough, you know? Just to have you there. As a friend. An ally. But then--"

Castiel's gaze was drawn to Dean's cheeks. They still blazed fresh red. His eyes darted back and forth.

"Then?" He kept his voice quiet. How he knew to do that was beyond him; it must be another bit of muscle memory. The human inside him, guiding him to do the right thing.

"Then my body chimes in and it says such weird things. Things like _kiss him_ and _touch him_ and I only keep my head screwed on straight because I know there's really no _you_ there for me to touch. There's the man you're wearing, and that's not the same."

"But now I'm starting to feel like a human does," Castiel said, "and it's getting harder for you to draw the distinction."

"And you can read my goddamn thoughts, which makes it even harder to keep things together, and now you know it all and I'm just screwed, man. How am I supposed to--" He'd raised his hands and begun to wring them, but in a moment they went stiff and Dean's eyes were boring into Castiel's, thick and dark with desperation.

"Jeez," he whispered, and then his hands were on Castiel's shoulders, pulling him in sharply.

Dean's lips claimed his with possessive fervor. Castiel let out a groan as his insides scorched, the body he was in registering a thousand hot points as he crashed against the wall, letting Dean push him into it, hard. His coat rode high against the wallpaper, bunched up behind the small of his back. Dean's mouth was moving, opening against his. Castiel mimicked the movements, parted his lips until he tasted something that made him gasp and cling to him. Dean's tongue. Did tongues always feel, or taste, or react like that? It had been a sharp shot of lightning down his spine. He dared to open his mouth again, this time steeling himself against the shock, and the strangeness of it curled into heat against the base of his belly. He made a noise, pushed against the mass of Dean's weight against him. He couldn't break free, didn't want to.

Humans could feel _this much._ What a stunning revelation.

He knew that hardness at his core, knew the answering hardness against him. Unthinkingly, he rocked against it, and pleasure sent a trumpeting blast through his hips, down his legs. They wobbled. Dean would surely press him into the wall until he _stuck_ there. Castiel reached out, found the skin of Dean's neck. Caressed it. Beads of sweat and the smell of soap, and he breathed in hard. He wasn't sure he had enough breath left to survive. He felt crushed in every conceivable way. There was no room to breathe, or move, or exist. There was only Dean everywhere, strong, powerful, overwhelming.

Now cursing. Pushing him away.

Castiel's arms were around nothing. His mouth was touching nothing. He felt more alone and afraid than he had since he'd been cut off from heaven, since his doubts had started. Dean's face was curled in disgust, an expression of revulsion that tore at Castiel's heart. To be rejected by this person would hurt worse than the torment he'd suffered at the hands of his superiors, worse than the torture inflicted by the blackest demons of hell. This was the one man he was sure was on his side. And if Dean wasn't on his side, that meant Castiel was doing something wrong.

He'd set his compass by him, and to lose that direction would leave him stranded at sea.

Dean wiped his lips and paced a few steps before turning. "This is not what I meant to do," he said. Wagging his finger, he repeated himself. "This is _not_ what I meant to do."

Castiel stood silent, trying to conceal the trembling of his body. His life was in Dean's hands right now, and the stupid mortal didn't even know it. It was downright _infuriating_.

"You said angels didn't have any sex," Dean said. "What-- what are you doing?"

"I told you." Castiel frowned. "It's this body. I'm feeling things. And I'm not the one who started that." A simple fact, not an accusation, he said to himself. There was no reason why Dean should take it as an accusation.

"You pushed me into it." Now _that_ was an accusation.

"Really? How?" His voice was flat.

"Just by-- by-- god damn it!" Dean slumped down on the bed. "I don't have time for this. I'm supposed to fight the goddamn devil, and you're the one guy who's supposed to be on my side no matter what."

"I _am_ on your side." Castiel stepped forward, but a warning shot of a glance from Dean and he stopped.

"Then don't do this to me, OK, Cas?" The pleading tore at Dean's voice. "Don't give me some sexual revolution to worry about while I'm trying to deal with the end of the world. I can't handle it."

Castiel didn't understand. He hadn't done anything. "Do you want me to go?" he said, jerkily pointing at the door. Dean didn't answer. Not knowing what else to do, Castiel turned away and started to make his way to the entrance.

"Wait."

It took him not even a second to move, to whirl and find a place next to Dean on the bed. A respectable distance between them. His body had done this without waiting for his consent. This was human instinct. Something else he'd never had the benefit of before. It was the natural thing.

For a while they sat there, side by side, looking down at the floor and not saying a word.

"Won't I go to hell?" Dean broke the silence. "For thinking about this stuff. For feeling it."

Finally, a question for which he had a ready answer. "Nothing you feel will damn you to hell. It's your actions that matter."

"Then will I go to hell for what I did?"

Startled, Castiel looked up at him. "What do you mean? You've done many things in your life."

Dean snorted a small laugh. "This, you chucklehead. You and me. You're in a guy's body. Isn't there some sort of crap in Leviticus about--"

"You know your Scripture," Castiel said. "I'm surprised."

"That's not an answer."

"I don't think I have an answer. A lot was written. Not everything in that book is God's word. Some of it was written by kings. Tribal leaders, trying to control the people."

"So the homo sex stuff is bullshit."

"I don't know." Castiel shook his head. "I don't know what was written by whom. I just know that some of it is God's word, and some of it isn't."

"And now we're having a Bible study." Dean threw up his hands. "God, we are an effed-up pair of bastards." He was trying to smile, but something looked almost like a tear in the corner of his eye.

"But humans have a conscience," Castiel mused. "An innate sense that tells them the difference between right and wrong. Don't they?"

"We're not so good at telling our inner Jiminies from everything else going on in there." Dean batted at his own head playfully. "Why, what's yours say? Now that you've got one."

Another slow shake of his head; another moment of silence.

"Cas." The voice broke even over the one short syllable.

"Yes?"

Dean glanced at him. "I sort of need it to be okay."

He sounded like a guilty child. Castiel didn't know how to respond. "You need to know you're not committing a sin," he echoed dumbly.

"Yeah. No, not even that." Dean was averting his gaze now, his body twisted on the bed to keep him from betraying a trembling jaw or balled-up fist, but Castiel could see it all. "I don't care about whether it's a sin. I just need to know it's okay with you. I need to know you're not going to freak out on me."

It dawned on Castiel then that Dean was seeking reassurance. How could this man, who always seemed so sure of himself, need that? And more, importantly, what on earth or heaven could Castiel provide him in that vein?

A hand on his shoulder seemed a good first step. Castiel gave it a try.

Instantly the warmth, the feeling of melting returned. He was melting from the inside out. "Why would I do that?" he said, the softness in his own voice like a revelation. "I didn't stop you. I didn't want to stop you, Dean. I wanted..." He paused. "I wanted this."

Was that too much? Dean expelled air through loose lips, an expression of derision, and Castiel thought he might have gone too far. "Hunh," Dean said. "_This_. You don't even know what it is you want."

Castiel grabbed his elbow, forced the hard-soft eyes into synchronicity with his. "You," he said, his insides churning. Still, he spoke with all the conviction and pride of his race. "I want _you, _Dean." And with less conviction but more heart-- a thousand times more heart-- "I need you."

Breaths suspended between them. An eternal instant of wavering indecision.

Then-- along with hands, mouth-- moving in toward him-- whispered, muttered under breath, deep and heartfelt--

_"I need you too, Cas."_

\--and now they were locked in a kiss that had no boundaries and no hesitation-- Dean's mouth hot and wet and open, tart intensity of a tongue stroking his, Castiel making noises he didn't know how to make or what they meant. Dean climbed over him, pushed him down onto the bed, and broke the kiss to stare at him for a brief second. There was that possessed look again, but now it didn't remind Castiel of demons anymore, just human feeling and human desire that Castiel himself now knew. Desire that eclipsed everything when Dean bent to kiss him again.

Rough man's hands tore at his shirt, pulling it apart and away, and bare chest rubbed against fabric, then less fabric, than smooth warm skin, neverending like the horizon. Castiel gasped like a drowning man. How had he ever survived without knowing this sensation? Now he had an inkling why mortal man, with his failings and his short life, remained the favored creature of creation. If God was in all of His creatures, felt everything they did, there could be no comparison. Nothing an angel ever felt could compare to these moments of sheer desperation and need and pleasure.

His hips crested up against Dean's -- again, they met at the core where the heat pooled at its most concentrated. Dean's mind was full of _his cock I can feel his cock holy shit_ and Castiel memorized the word that no longer seemed so much like a vulgarity. He tried to learn how to use it in his own mind-- Dean's cock was pulsing like the heartbeat of a frightened bird, engorged, full and heavy on his.

Angels were sexless, lived in ignorance of human appetites, but Castiel was finding this crash course informative and invigorating. He wanted to smell and taste between Dean's legs, lick his thighs and cradle his cock in one curled hand. Where were these thoughts coming from? They weren't his host's desires-- they were his own, he thought, instantly translated into intuitive human language. And maybe they were Dean's as well. It was hard to make sense of all the voices in his head when he was this hot.

Dean was starting to smile against his mouth. "What the hell are we doing," he muttered, but he didn't let up. Castiel's hands came around to clamp his backside and Dean arched and dove into Castiel's neck, sucking on the skin and igniting fireworks against it. "Jesus fucking Christ, Cas, you don't even have the right hole."

Confusion. "I have a hole."

This made Dean pause, and he burst into laughter. "It doesn't work the same way, dumbass. Can't you make yourself a girl for the night?"

"I wish I could. That kind of transformation is beyond my current power."

Dean grumbled. For an instant the heat flagged, and Castiel's mind raced to keep himself from freezing to death. "But... I can do something."

"Really." A flat statement, not a question. "_What._"

Castiel didn't know to be embarrassed, but as he spoke he quickly learned it from Dean's expression. "I can make it work the same way. My... hole." For an instant of horrified silence, Castiel was sure he'd ruined everything.

Then Dean laughed. "You're a nut." He kissed Castiel's mouth deeply, quick lick of tongue inside his mouth and back again as Castiel gasped for breath. "I swear, if I didn't need you so fucking bad right now I'd be totally grossed out. You know that, right?"

He blinked. "Why?"

"Never mind." And God save him from perdition because now Dean was peeling off his pants and running hands over his thighs and touching him and oh God Castiel would fall for sure if this were sinful but he wanted it more than anything else in the world. And Dean was blaspheming in a low voice, "Jesus fucking Christ oh my God Cas you feel so good," with his mouth in Castiel's neck and his hands on his cock, how was it that Castiel's body had not exploded? This seemed more than any creature could possibly bear.

"Now," he heard himself say in a low voice. "Now, now, now."

He steeled himself and concentrated and made it easy for Dean to slide inside of him oh Lord in heaven he thought he would die with just the look on Dean's face imprinted in his memory forever. That look of rapture as he felt Castiel pulse around him, felt the wetness that he didn't expect. _"Nngh,_" he keened as he sank into him. "Oh, God, Cas."

"It's all right?" His hand needed to touch that raptured face, and, transported, Castiel followed its lead. Dean's cheek was soft and hot beneath his fingers, and it moved when Dean's eyes widened in surprise at the question.

"All right?" he echoed. "It's fucking amazing. Oh, jeez." His eyes went from wide to squeezed shut in an instant and then he was thrusting, pushing up, sending stars through Castiel's consciousness as he felt himself filled and touched as he'd never fathomed could be part of his experience.

A hand fell to his cock and pumped tentatively. "I've never," Dean grunted, but with the very touch of his fingers Castiel was pulling him down again into a deep kiss, groaning, pushing up to intensify the friction. Did he need to say _me neither_? Probably not. Dean knew.

And Dean knew the rhythms of the human body far better than Castiel did, knew what to squeeze and what to caress, knew how to keep Castiel on edge until he was begging for more, whispering _please_ into Dean's soft lips. His kisses alternated between kind and bruising, and his eyes, shut tight at the peaks of sensation, opened and sought out his when the tide receded long enough for him to look through and see Castiel beneath him. _This should be weird_, he kept thinking, _this is a _guy _I'm boning, but it's Cas, God, Cas is letting me fuck him... needed him so badly and now here he is... finally, finally..._

...finally, finally, Dean gave a yell of warning and tossed his head back, arching, then snapping back to bury his face in Castiel's neck, shouting hard as he shuddered. Hot wet _yes_ everything, all filling Castiel up, God _bless_ this body, and a few more tugs and he was shouting too, his body erupting in a series of intense waves of passion. He was wet and sticky now, and so was Dean, their stomachs caked together. Castiel wrapped his limbs around Dean, clinging tight to him. Trusting Dean to take him through heaven and hell, just as he always had, always wanted to. Loving him completely.

They held each other, breathing labored breaths in tandem, for a long, long time before they could part.

Finally, with a slick slide, Dean pulled out of him and flopped onto the bed beside him, staring up to the ceiling. His arms were widespread, and he whistled a little with each expulsion of breath. "Ho-_ly_," he intoned.

Castiel looked over at him and felt very holy indeed. There was no greater honor on earth than being needed by this man.

"Do we do this again?" he asked quietly, not sure he was ready for the answer.

Dean looked at him, and a smile and a frown warred for control of his face. "I don't know," he said. "Didn't plan on doing it the first time, you know?"

It wasn't a satisfactory answer. Castiel frowned.

Dean saw his consternation and reached over to grasp his hand loosely. "I wouldn't rule it out," he said. And that, Castiel knew, would have to be enough.

*

It was several minutes later, and they were up and dressing, when Castiel muttered a few words that Dean caught only the tail end of.

_"...by an angel."  
_  
Dean stopped and grinned at him.

Castiel reddened. "What?"

"First off," Dean said, "it was the other way around. And second of all, did _you_ really just say _that_ word?"

Castiel was desperately looking for excuses when Dean slapped him on the back. His hand stayed there, steady, comforting heat.

Dean's breath was warm against Castiel's ear. "More and more human every day," he murmured.

It felt like a compliment.

 

_the end_   



End file.
